I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
                                                                                       Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
                                                                                       Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
                                                                                       With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
                                                                                                                                                                    MND. act 2, scene 1

This is the story of a shared dream in which we dream of labyrinths and ponds, dreams within dreams while imagining ourselves as puppies disguised as other animals, discovering the world, playing, jumping, and transforming ourselves.

                                                                                      Love’s stories written in love’s richest books.
                                                                                      To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
                                                                                                                                                                    MND. act 2, scene 6

In the summer, the nights are hot, and the dreams become entangled between us, like songs that are woven while we remain awake.

                                                                                       God's my life! Stolen hence, and left me asleep? I have
                                                                                       had a most rare vision. I have had a dream past the wit
                                                                                       of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass if he
                                                                                       go about to expound this dream. Methought I was —
                                                                                       there is no man can tell what methought I was and
                                                                                       methought I had — but man is but a patched fool if he
                                                                                       will offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man
                                                                                       hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's
                                                                                       hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his
                                                                                       heart to report what my dream was.
                                                                                                                                                                    MND. act 4, scene 1

Midsummer Night's Dream is a series of AI generated images made with mid journey v1 to v5.

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